


Concerning Etiquette At A Formal Event

by lilithqueen



Series: From Ashes [4]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, also co-starring aethas playing matchmaker, co-starring headcanons regarding belf jewelry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: Hellfire Citadel has fallen, Draenor is saved, and Gul'dan is (probably) dead. Aethas would be happier if he had anything to wear to the victory ball. Luckily, Rommath steps in. They do not wind up dancing together, but the night still ends well.





	

Archimonde had fallen. Gul’dan, according to the adventurers (and Liadrin) who had been there, was _probably_ dead. Draenor was safe and could begin to heal. If these were the only important things to come out of Aethas’s week so far, he would have counted himself well pleased.

Unfortunately, the note which had been delivered to him just that morning had announced a victory ball to take place in the evening, and so instead of spending the day working or doing anything actually _useful_ he’d been forced to have his best suit pressed and altered. (His parents, he knew, would have done it free of charge, but nothing could have induced him to ask them. Better that they spend their time with _paying_ customers.) At least the color was still good, if old-fashioned—a purple so dark it was nearly black, with delicate accents in gold thread. He’d had to rent the cufflinks, but as long as nobody looked closely they wouldn’t notice the slightly chipped enamel of the phoenixes emblazoned on them. He took one final look in the mirror, patted back a stray lock of hair that was trying to escape his braid, and headed out into the hall. As long as nothing dire happened to his ensemble in the next half hour or so, he’d make a fine entrance.

He tried not to feel as though he was going to his execution. _It’s a party. I like parties. But parties I like aren’t usually filled with people that barely tolerate my presence outside of the bedroom._

“ _That’s_ what you’re wearing to the victory ball?”

 _Speak of Sargeras, and he appears._ It wasn’t a real shock—the actual residential wing of the Spire was packed closely together, and so Rommath’s appearance in the halls near his rooms was almost a regular occurrence—but it still brought an uncomfortable pang to Aethas’s heart to look up into the Grand Magister’s face. Of course _he_ looked like the noble he was; his robes were scarlet silk edged in gold, studded with rubies and black diamonds. More gold edged his ears and held complex braids in place, with garnets glinting against the sheen of his hair. He was _glorious_ , as imposing and powerful as a king, and the note of disapproval in his voice made Aethas wince. _I know I can’t compare, but surely he can see I’ve made an effort._ “What’s wrong with it?”

“…Where are your jewels?” Rommath flapped a hand irritably at Aethas’s ears. “You are underdressed, Sunreaver.”

He stiffened, ears going back. “I have none.”

For an uncomfortably long time, Rommath just stared at him. Finally, he spoke. “You must have _something_ suitable.”

He could feel his ears turning red, but made himself meet Rommath’s gaze steadily. “I mean I have none at all. My Sunreavers needed to be kept afloat until support was found for them, and some still struggle.” _Which you haven’t exactly been helping with._

“Well.” Rommath’s lips thinned, gaze briefly drifting past him until it slid back over his suit. “While that is admirable of you, it does not solve our more immediate problem. I am _not_ allowing you to appear at this party looking…shabby.”

He couldn’t quite hide the flinch, but he could at least make it seem like only a minor wound. Accordingly, his tone was light and casual. “Missing it would be no great hardship. I’ve got work to do, anyway.”

Rommath snorted, ears flicking. “Don’t be ridiculous. Come with me, I’ll see you outfitted properly.”

The tone verged on fondness, which was something he could barely imagine—still, it made him flush hotly as he trailed behind him. Politeness demanded a response, so he managed a “Thank you.”

“Hrmph.” They walked side by side, and their shoes on the hard marble floors were the only sound until Rommath added—unnecessarily, in Aethas’s opinion— “Just try not to lose or break anything. I seem to recall you having a bad track record with small objects.”

He twitched, glaring up at him. “It is not my fault _you_ knocked your own reading glasses off the bedside table where they could be stepped on.” It wasn’t as though Rommath didn’t have at least a dozen other identical pairs anyway, and Aethas was the one who had wound up with a bruise right across the sole of his bare foot.

 “I,” Rommath sniffed, “had intended to sleep in that morning. You tempted me to do otherwise, and thus it is your fault.”

Irritatingly, Aethas could feel his ears heat up at the memory. They’d both been late for that day’s strategy meeting, but oh, it had been worth it. _Sneer all you please. You may not want me in your meetings, but you still want me in your bed._ The thought made him smirk. “Should I beg on bended knee for your forgiveness, then?”

He was pleased to see the faintest tint of red colored Rommath’s high cheekbones. “Just don’t do it again.”

It wasn’t until he crossed the threshold that he realized it was the first time he’d been in Rommath’s rooms without at least the pretense of work-related concerns leading him there. It felt strange to follow him into the bedroom without touching, to pet an inquisitive cat on his way to the vanity instead of tumbling onto the enormous canopied bed. He twined his fingers together in his lap, ears twitching as he watched Rommath bring over one of his chests of jewels. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

Rommath paused, looking him up and down appraisingly. “What you’re wearing would do very well for everyday wear, but not for an event such as this. Here, pick something.”

Aethas had once owned jewels like the ones Rommath offered him—similar, but not nearly the same. His had been new, freshly purchased to reflect his station as an archmage of the Kirin Tor; Rommath’s were clearly much older, some likely heirlooms from before the founding of Quel’thalas itself, and there was nothing of violet or sky blue in the padded velvet compartments. His tastes seemed to run towards warmer colors, most of which would clash with Aethas’s suit, but there were pieces that would work. Still, Aethas hesitated before finally selecting a few pairs of amethyst-and-sapphire drops mounted in ancient gold filigree, adding a pair of gold ear cuffs fashioned in the shape of phoenixes when he thought of how much jewelry Rommath wore on his own ears. He was acutely aware of the Grand Magister’s eyes on him as he put them on, making his ears so tense that the muscles attached to them were starting to ache.

It was a shock when Rommath actually spoke. “And help yourself to the cufflinks, too. The ones you’re wearing are a disgrace.”

He huffed out a breath. _Of course he noticed._ It was easy enough to make a selection, at least—Rommath didn’t own many cufflinks, and there was really only one choice once he discarded all the rubies and a spectacularly tacky set carved out of diamonds. Sapphires would suit him well; he only had to swap them in, and he’d pass muster.

If he could actually get them fastened. His fingers slipped just when he thought he’d had it, making them drop to the polished wood of the vanity; as he hissed and picked them up to try again, Rommath’s hand on his arm stopped him. “I can’t watch you fumble with these. Allow me?”

And it _was_ a request, something which made him blush hard as he mutely offered up his wrists to Rommath’s warm, clever fingers. The touch was gentler than he’d expected, and he swallowed at unbidden memories of other times Rommath had been that careful. When they’d been in bed together and the atmosphere was charged with lust, when he’d had to steel himself against the thought that Rommath might hold him in any sort of esteem. _He is careful because it pleases him to be. I can’t forget that._

When Rommath stepped away, he got to his feet and smoothed his jacket down, unable to meet his gaze directly. “Well? How do I look?”

\--

Rommath was starting to think he’d miscalculated. Severely.

Without the jewels, Aethas had been handsome enough, certainly worth a second glance if Rommath had passed him on the streets of Silvermoon. His suit was distinctly human in style—unfashionable in this political climate, but the look suited him better than robes would, and there was enough gold thread to suggest it had passed through the hands of a proper elven tailor at some point. The snow-white shirt and cravat made it look almost black in comparison until light picked up its purple sheen. While still unsuitable for a truly formal occasion, Rommath’s first impression of his garb had been that he’d looked… _nice_. Certainly not embarrassing to be seen in public with, at any rate.

With millennia-old gems lining his ears and sapphires gleaming at his wrists—sapphires Rommath himself had worn in happier times—Aethas was very far from “nice.” _Breathtaking_ was more like it; he knew he was staring, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the way each attending glint of metal brought out the brightness of Aethas’s hair, making it shine like new copper. If there had been time, he could see himself taking that simple braid apart, weaving gold through it until it was fit for a prince. He knew how soft that hair would be in his grip.

Belatedly, he realized Aethas had actually asked him a question—as though the answer wasn’t obvious—and felt his ears heat. “You look…acceptable. Shall we?”

Something cold flickered across Aethas’s expression as he nodded. “Of course; I shouldn’t want to be late.”

He didn’t offer his arm, but they entered the ballroom together.

The last time Rommath had willingly entered the Sunfury Spire’s grand ballroom, Kael’thas had still been the Crown Prince. It looked very different now; tables and couches had been clustered at the far end, and one entire wall was lined with refreshments. He vaguely recalled having to approve a few hundred bottles of Suntouched Special Reserve, which it seemed were already being served to the guests. _And the night’s barely started. Wonderful._

“Aethas! Nice suit.”

Even sober, Halduron was cheerful as he strode up to them. In full dress armor with—for once—no leaves, cat hair, or dragonhawk feathers stuck in it, he actually looked like the Ranger-General he was. Rommath was pleased to note that someone had made him leave off the headband, dressing his hair with mother-of-pearl combs instead. “Good evening to you, too.”

Halduron grinned at him, unrepentant. “Yes, yes, I see _you_ every day. The sleeves are a surprise.” He turned to Aethas, beaming down at him. “Come on, the party starts soon and there are some people I think you’d enjoy dancing with.”

It should _not_ have pleased him when Aethas paused, looking up at him with a faint suggestion of a flush at his ears. “I imagine none of us will lack for partners.”

He set his ears rigidly to hide the half-formed emotion that squirmed somewhere under his breastbone. “Enjoy yourselves as you will; I don’t dance.”

Aethas’s ear twitched minutely, but he shrugged. “Suit yourself, then. Lead the way, Hal.”

And of _course_ Aethas called him Hal. As the Ranger-General led him towards a gaggle of adventurers, Rommath was freshly stricken by the realization that Aethas had managed to make friends. It had been a shock after the siege of Orgrimmar when he’d seen Lor’themar fling a companionable arm around his shoulders; it shouldn’t have still stung, but it did. _Everyone loves him; not even his Sunreavers abandoned him. Sun above, a god he doesn’t follow is devoted to him._ (Years later, _that_ had faded to a scabbed-over wound in his heart. He’d never forget the sight of Aethas sheltering under Al’ar’s wing, but it was easier to swallow when the phoenix god spent so much of its time in the shape of a hatchling.)

He wanted a drink. The crowd parted as he passed, giving him a wide berth as he accepted a glass of wine and continued on to the nearest unoccupied alcove. Nobody would dare bother him if he felt like sitting and drinking, not if they knew what was good for them; alone, he could relax and observe the atmosphere.

 _I do believe this is the first time any non-elves have set foot here._ He watched a female tauren clasp the arm of a Reliquary guard and amended that thought. _Or hoof, as the case may be._ Granted, the crowd was still overwhelmingly sin’dorei, but he spotted orcs, pandaren, and trolls; there were even one or two Forsaken giving Liadrin a good deal of space on the dance floor. He could see why; the draenei had gifted her a fortune in Light-imbued crystals, and she shone gently but steadily as her current partner—an orc, really?—led her through the steps of the opening dance.

The song ended and the band struck up the next one, something fast and modern. His fingers tightened on the stem of his glass as Aethas stepped up to her, taking her hand with a smile. They were nearly of a height; though her dress was a paler lilac, their outfits harmonized so well it might have been a deliberate choice. And—he swallowed hard—they could both _move_. Liadrin’s grace on the battlefield clearly translated to the dance floor. And Aethas…

He’d seen Aethas trip over the hems of robes, knock dozens of things off of side tables, and walk directly into furniture. As deliciously lithe and flexible as he was in bed, Rommath had never imagined it would carry over to anything else—and yet here he was being proved absolutely wrong. He was laughing as he spun Liadrin around, not missing a beat even when another couple nearly collided with them. Rommath had never seen him so happy, and it made him feel a little sick inside. _Hrmph. At least he was right about something for once._

Indeed, no sooner did Liadrin release him at the end of the dance than a dense knot of socialites descended on him. Even with his ears turning red, he looked perfectly at home in the center of the group; a touch to one man’s arm, a gentle graze to a woman’s back, and they turned towards him like flowers to the sun. It was a rare gift, Rommath mused. One utterly wasted on him. _With that silver tongue of his, if he had any political acumen at all…he could have the world at his feet._ In the meantime, he seemed content to turn it to more pedestrian pursuits; Rommath couldn’t stop his ears from laying back as Aethas returned to the dance floor. A handsome dark-haired Blood Knight, a pandaren in mail armor that gleamed like the sun, a sin’dorei woman in rather more jewelry than cloth—he flattered attendance on them all, and they left him flushed and smiling.

Rommath sat, nursing the single glass he allowed himself, and watched. _It doesn’t matter if he dances with all of Quel’thalas. He’ll be in_ my _bed tonight._

Even if some small, traitorous part of him did want Aethas in his arms _now_.

 --

Aethas honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun. At least, not with all his clothes on. He’d danced until his feet hurt, eaten what felt like his own weight in appetizers, and had spent the past half an hour happily making the acquaintance of one of the adventurers who had helped take down the Iron Horde. Nimi Brightcastle was _wonderful_ , and reminded him so strongly of Uda that he’d perhaps wound up singing her praises a bit more than was really polite—but then Nimi had started turning pink, eyes going wide, and so he’d embellished a bit. He’d helped Uda take down Durn the Hungerer, but Nimi didn’t need to know that. “And if you tell her you were at Archimonde’s fall, I think you might even win bragging rights.”

She bit her lip, looking down at her plate. “But do you think our wolves would get along? I’d like to make a good impression.”

“Miss Brightcastle, let me assure you—if Uda likes you, and she _will_ , her wolves will approve. I’ll introduce you—but if you’re going to compare scars, do give me a warning.”

“What?” But then Nimi grinned, ears turning red. “Archmage Sunreaver, you are _awful_ , but I like it.”

Judging by the rising heat in his face he suspected he was approaching the same color, but her grin was infectious. “Know that I wish you all the best in your romantic endeavors. Someone ought to be having a fun time around here.”

“…How about you?” One ear tilted forward, curious. “I admit, I don’t know too many spellcasters, but I bet if I ask around I can find you someone you might like to eat dinner with.”

Now he _knew_ he was blushing. _There is no one in my life, but…_ He fiddled with an earring as he answered. “I’m content as I am; I’ve far too much work to even contemplate a social life right now, and I shouldn’t like to give anyone less attention than they deserve. It would hardly be fair to them.” _Rommath shouldn’t care. He has no claim to me or my time, but I am loath to give up what we do have. He may not like me, but the intensity is…intoxicating._

He’d felt the Grand Magister’s gaze on him since he’d stepped onto the floor; when he’d realized it, it had struck him faster than the wine he’d drunk. _Good_ , he’d thought fiercely. _Keep your eyes on me._ If he’d shown off more than was wise, had flaunted his jewelry and the cut of his suit, had flirted more outrageously than he usually did…well. Maybe it was petty of him, but he’d seen the hawklike focus on Rommath’s face and he wanted him to see exactly what he was missing.

He was still watching him now. Aethas could feel the intensity of it. As Nimi turned away, distracted by her comrades approaching, he quietly made his excuses and drifted towards the alcove where Rommath had been lounging all evening.

Rommath’s gaze warmed appreciably as he approached. “Aethas. Had enough of socializing?”

With the curtain half-closed, nobody could see him slide his hand up Rommath’s thigh, watching the way his ears shuddered at the touch. Delicate ruby drops glittered with the movement, and he had to resist the urge to play with them as he leaned up to murmur, “You’ve been watching me all night.”

To his great pleasure, Rommath’s voice wavered a bit as his fingers strayed tantalizingly close to sensitive flesh. “Hrm. You wear my jewels.”

 _Possessive, are we?_ He wasn’t expecting Rommath’s next move, and he had to swallow roughly at the first brush of heated fingers against the edge of his ear before he found his voice. “Do you like what you see?”

Rommath’s thumb sliding over the back of his ear made him shiver. “You know very well I do. You are exquisite.” It was a low rumble that enflamed his blood, and suddenly he felt bolder.

He lowered his own voice, watching him through lidded eyes. “Hmm, I don’t know whether I believe you or not. You might have to prove it to me.” _Would you still sound so composed when I’ve got you alone? I don’t think so._

Their eyes met for a moment; Rommath’s hand fell to Aethas’s neck, running along the tendon there in a way that made Aethas bite back a moan as he recalled the times he’d done the same thing with his mouth. And then he leaned in, lips brushing Aethas’s ear. “My room.”

He sucked in a ragged breath. “Oh, _yes_.”

In the morning, there would be time for regrets, time for second guesses and hesitation and an awkward retreat back to his own rooms. But tonight, he didn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanons mentioned that are only semi-relevant but I'm proud of them:
> 
> 1\. Nice hair is a big deal for elves, ditto jewelry. Wearing someone else's jewels, especially things with a family crest or initials or something, means you're also stating a claim on _them._
> 
> 2\. Rommath has about seven cats, all with exceedingly fancy pedigreed names. Thanks largely to the likes of Aethas, Lor'themar, and Halduron, they all also answer to things like Mittens and Pookie.


End file.
